It seems like another lifetime that I suffered from chronic insomnia, which is probably why it hurts so much to relive it now. I hear tugboats pulling in to Tacoma, people driving alone on the empty streets for an early trip to the airport, modern construction machinery working the grounds, and my mind yelling at me in an attempt to convict me of my open eyes. By the way, it’s 5:30 in the morning, and let me say that insomnia is not exciting. That feeling ended years ago. Real insomnia leaves a bad taste in the mouth of the victim. Nausea comes to stare with you each night, your ceiling never smiles back, you can’t find the words to say your nightly prayer, you try to understand why you can’t find the tears to filter your eyes, and when you try to make it better, whatever controls it all won’t let you, and so you sit there empty, cold, and wistful.
I told myself I would be brief, so I will try to sleep now. But, why does the Lord provide each undeserving breath to fuel my sinful life? Is it so that I may choose truth, or is it so I can fail once more to make an example of a life I lived? Maybe it’s these very questions that keep me awake at night, but, eventually, I will slip out of wakefulness, and dream of soft light slanting through the old growth, and I will not remember it in the morning.